Charming Manifest
by Lupinista
Summary: Rosalie's band lands a weeklong gig. The catch? It's at a junky bar outside of Gatlinburg. The REAL catch? Her bandmate Edward's old buddy Emmett McCarty, the sexy bartender. But she doesn't find him attractive, no she does not. (It's going to be a long week.) AU/AH Emmett/Rosalie, featuring all-canon pairings. Written for the Battle of the Band Fics with Annaleise Marie.
1. Prologue

**Summary: Rosalie's band lands a weeklong gig. The catch? It's at a junky bar outside of Gatlinburg. The REAL catch? ****Her bandmate Edward's old buddy **Emmett McCarty, the sexy bartender. But she doesn't find him attractive, no she does not. (It's going to be a long week.) AU/AH Emmett/Rosalie, featuring all-canon pairings. Written for the Battle of the Band Fics with Annaleise Marie.

**A/N: I must be insane. Scratch that, I AM insane. I'd been kicking this idea around for a few weeks, jotted down some ideas, and then discovered Annaleise Marie also had plans for a Twilight band fic, too. Wacky! I'm using her likeness for an awesome chick featured in this chapter - hopefully I do her justice. Also, you should go read her fic, Unwound.**

**Disclaimer: Twilight is property of Stephenie Meyer, and she owns the original plans to all of these characters. Well, except Anna, she's her own super-badass person.**

Garrett slammed the phone back down on the receiver, exhaling sharply through his nose. He wasn't one to have a short temper, but tonight his patience was being heavily tested.

"What's going on, man?"

Garrett glanced to his right to see his employee, Emmett McCarty, approaching him, an old rag slung over his muscular shoulder. Garrett pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers, shutting his eyes for a moment.

"Culture Shok backed out," he said simply. Small sentences were good. The more words he used to elaborate, the angrier he'd get.

Emmett sighed, shaking his head. "Figures," he said, scoffing, leaning an elbow against the countertop and looking across the bar. It was seven in the evening; he and Garrett had finally caught a break in the dinner rush. Emmett ran a hand across his face tiredly. "And they were starting Wednesday, right?"

"Here for a week," Garrett ground out.

"What's their fucking problem?" Emmett deadpanned.

There was a loud bang, the sound of glass breaking, and a rowdy shout, followed by obnoxious laughter.

"Fucking college kids!"

There was a neon blur that flashed through the bar area as a pink-haired girl appeared from under the counter where she'd been resupplying a shelf with clean shot glasses, snatched the rag off Emmett's shoulder, and headed off in search of the disturbance in what seemed like lightening speed.

"Don't scare them too much, Anna," Emmett called after her, chuckling at his own joke, because despite the little spitfire's drunken fan following, she was just as good at breaking up fights with her spunk as he was with his muscles. Anna's response was a choice finger raised high in the air over her head, and Emmett laughed again.

Garrett had been silent throughout the exchange, still trying to work out an answer for Emmett's rhetorical question. He ran a hand through his dark, greasy hair. "I guess they don't like staying in one place for so long," he finally replied, sounding truly perplexed. "Apparently a week of the same show 'turns off the crowd.'"

"So… add some variety?"

Garrett raised his hand, palm-up, in Emmett's direction. "Yes. Thank you." His face took on a defiant expression as he mocked the lead singer in a nasally voice: "'You want me to plan seven unique shows for one week?'" He laughed bitterly, striding over to stand next to Emmett behind the bar and survey the place quietly. "I realize this isn't like Warped Tour or anything – we're not the best place to start a following, but that's not what it's about here, you know? It's a bar, it's a restaurant, it's for food and entertainment. I want people to come to a familiar atmosphere, not where there's new faces every damn night, just here for the publicity then onto the next one. _But_ having a radio play on the loudspeaker isn't my forte. _Live_ music is where music started in the first place, and I like it. It's genuine. I _respect_ it."

Emmett raised an eyebrow, and Garrett laughed. "I can't fucking sing, man," he said with a shrug. "But kudos to anyone who can. I'll put them on that stage –" Garrett gestured to a raised platform in the corner, next to which Anna was scolding the rowdy guys who busted a beer mug over their wings. "– Provided they'll stay here for more than a two hour set."

Emmett nodded; he respected Garrett not only as a boss, but as a friend – they weren't too far off in age. Garrett wasn't usually one for passionate speeches, but he would someday inherit the place from his dad, Wayne, and he really did care about it and about his customers. And music. Emmett had only ever met one person in his life more passionate about music than Garrett. In fact…

"Hey, man, I just thought of something," Emmett said slowly, casting Garrett a sideways glance. "You'll need a band to fill the spot – on relatively short notice – right?"

Garrett nodded wordlessly, his eyebrows raised, waiting to see where Emmett was headed.

Emmett clapped Garrett on the shoulder with a large, paw like hand. "I think I know just the guy." Emmett turned to the counter behind him, snatching up the phone Garrett had so recently slammed down, and hesitated, trying to remember the number; he hadn't used it in two years, at least. He guessed on the last two digits and waited, the ringing as the lines connected maddeningly obnoxious. Finally, there was a click.

"Hello?" asked a familiar voice. Relief flooded Emmett's body.

"Hey man, it's Emmett. I know it's been awhile, but I need to ask you a favor…"


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hopefully you all enjoyed the prologue. I like it well-enough on its own, but the real story starts here, in chapter one. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Twilight is property of Stephenie Meyer, no matter how badly I want to pry it from her hands.**

"'The _Sticky Pit_'? Really, Edward?"

Edward Masen glanced up from his breakfast to find an attractive, albeit angry blonde stalking towards him.

"Wild Wayne's," he mumbled.

"_What_ did you just call me?" she demanded, scowling.

"The formal title is _Wild Wayne's_ Sticky Pit."

"Go fuck yourself."

"Good morning to you too, Rosalie," he said, his mocking tone only halfhearted, bringing his forkful of eggs to his mouth.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me."

"You didn't tell her yet?" the sandy-haired man seated next to Edward asked, scrubbing a hand over his five o'clock shadow and taking a swig of coffee.

"Would she have reacted any differently?" Edward countered. Rosalie threw herself down into the chair across from him and eyed him expectantly, her eyebrows raised. Edward chewed slowly, returning her gaze defiantly. Rosalie exhaled sharply through her nose, glaring daggers at him, before turning to her left and focusing on her brother, Jasper, who had been eying the exchange with an amused expression on his face.

"You knew about this and never told me?" she questioned hotly, and Jasper's face fell slightly.

"Well, I –" he sputtered, but Rosalie cut him off, focusing her fury back at Edward.

"Do you know how hard I have worked to build us a fan base classier than the normal rowdy bar crowd?" she snapped, and he merely raised an eyebrow. "Really fucking hard!" she answered herself.

"That's what she said," Peter Odom, who was seated to Edward's left, muttered under his breath, and Rosalie slapped her hands down on the tabletop. The _thwack_ echoed in the small breakfast hall, and a few heads turned.

"Rose," Edward said warningly.

"_This. Is. Not. Funny_!" she hissed. "It's bad enough being booked to play a sweaty armpit, but the real icing on the cake is getting a call from Eric at seven in the freaking morning to give me my schedule, and being the last to know about this new gig. Since when did my opinion stop counting?" She sighed and shook her head, studying the grain in the wood table. When she spoke, her voice had drastically reduced in volume. "We agreed when we got back together we'd talk things over anytime we had a decision to make," she said, her tone a complete opposite. "I just don't like being kept in the dark."

Edward scratched the back of his neck and glanced at Jasper, who raised his hands in mock-surrender, his gesture clearly pleading, "Keep me out of this!" Peter chose that moment to excuse himself for a second helping of bacon and all but ran to the buffet table. Edward sighed and set his fork down before regarding Rosalie. He felt a little guilty, now; Rosalie didn't bring this up often.

Their tour two summers previously had been so hard on Rosalie they'd had to go on hiatus, right as they were starting to become recognizable to the local crowd. But she'd had her reasons, and the group had agreed to give her space until she felt she could move on. It hadn't been easy; Jasper and Peter both had to quit their jobs and Edward dropped out of his college courses to kick-start the band in the first place, so neither had much to fall back on. Luckily for them, Edward's sister Esme could spare her guest bedroom for Edward and Peter to bunk, and Jacob returned to his father's house and his part-time job at Binghamton Auto Repair withouttrouble. Jasper took Rosalie back home to stay with their parents, and all involved tried to readjust to a life without cheap motels and diner food. Rosalie had grown leaps and bounds since, regaining her sense of self and her "blonde ambition" (as Jacob often referred to her hardheaded nature), and after much discussion all five agreed that life without the band just wasn't as satisfying.

"I'm sorry, Rosalie," Edward said softly, and she looked up at him, surprise evident on her face; she really hadn't expected him to apologize. His eyes were far away… nostalgic. "I know it doesn't sound… the greatest, and it _is_ on pretty short notice – I had final say in booking it, not Eric, so feel free to blame me. But they had a band drop out last-minute, and the manager there was really nice about putting us in their place. It's a gig when we didn't have one, and the pay isn't _awful_ –" He paused. "Well, in any case, we get free drinks, so I think it's a fair trade."

"_Great_," Rosalie replied, rolling her eyes. She was sick of bars, sick of alcohol. They'd had a nice couple of shows at small performance halls, and while it was no Madison Square Gardens, the crowd was tame, enthusiastic, and _sober_. She didn't trust any man with a drink in hand. Not to mention, if she got caught in the midst of one more bar brawl, she was going to go crazy.

"Just try to have an open mind," Jasper said, downing the rest of his coffee in one gulp. "At the very least, it's an opportunity to build a fan base in a new area. Now, why don't you go get your stuff out of your room and put it in the van? I'd like to get to South Knoxville by dinnertime."

Rosalie slid out of her chair and trudged away, running a weary hand across her face. "South Knoxville?" she whispered to herself. "Yippee."

"Hey, Rose?" Peter said as she passed him at the buffet table. Rosalie stopped to regard him. "Who knows? This could be the last bar we ever play." Peter tried to smile encouragingly.

"I won't hold my breath," she muttered, turning away.

By the time Rosalie reached her room, she found her brother Jasper's girlfriend, Alice Brandon, lounging against the door, their respective duffle bags in a small pile next to her. Alice jumped up when she saw Rosalie approaching, and chirped a cheerful, "Good morning!" at which Rosalie merely groaned. Alice's face fell slightly.

"Let me guess," the pixie-like girl said slowly, jumping gracefully to her sock-clad feet. "Edward told you about the Sticky Pit?"

"Eugh!" Rosalie's face twisted into an expression of disgust, and she stuck her tongue out. "Don't even _say_ it! Just don't."

Alice slipped her arm through the shoulder strap of her bag before lifting Rosalie's and holding it out to her as a peace offering. "I would have said something – I really would," she said honestly when Rosalie's duffle was returned, "but Jazz told me late, and by the time I was back to the room… well, you were already asleep, and I'm not the kind to raise the dead."

"S'fine," Rosalie mumbled, ignoring the joke and sighing. She had secretly hoped Alice wouldn't be her usual productive self at such an early hour, and she might be able to catch back up on some of the sleep that Eric had interrupted with his _wonderful_ news. The good Lord knew she wouldn't be able to sleep once they were back in the van – she'd either be stuck up front with Edward, the radio Nazi; or in the back with Jacob and Peter, who always sprawled out across the seat with their feet in her lap, or Jasper and Alice, whose cuddling and intimate whispered conversations made her want to retch out the window. She winced at the thought. Alice misunderstood her expression, and put a comforting arm around her friend.

"I'm sorry, Rose, I really am. I know how hard it is for you," she said softly, her hand rubbing a soothing circle on Rosalie's shoulder. "If it makes you feel any better, since this is a new area, you can wear all your favorite outfits and nobody will have seen them yet!" She gave Rosalie a quick squeeze before rapping on the door to the left of theirs, hoping to rouse Jacob; the plaintive moan from inside made her snicker.

Rosalie felt a smile touch her face. As much as she disliked their constant PDA, she couldn't help but feel proud of her brother for choosing such a sweet and caring person. Alice was not only a great roadie, but also easily one of her best friends, and a welcome break from the overabundance of testosterone in the band. Rosalie's tender thoughts were short-lived, however, once Alice's words started to sink in.

"_All_ my favorite outfits?" she said slowly, her stomach dropping. "You mean we're doing _more_ than one show here?!" Alice froze in her steps, and Rosalie took her silence as confirmation. "_Edward_!" she roared, the other hotel guests be damned, and stalked off in search of her soon-to-be late band mate.

* * *

Charming Manifest hadn't always been the powerhouse of energy the current members brought to the stage. It started out with just Edward, plunking out melodies on his mother's beloved baby grand piano. He'd always been musically inclined, and after his father's untimely passing when he was 14, the music was a form of solace for him, a way to escape. His mother still had the piano in the sitting room of her newer, smaller house, kept as a symbol of his spirit and reminder of his strength.

For the longest time, Edward played music by his lonesome, until his sophomore year in high school, when Jasper Hale had stumbled upon him playing piano in the band room one morning, and heard what talent he had to offer. The two had known each other superficially since kindergarten, of course – Edward was the sad, mopey kid whose dad died, and Jasper was the laid-back son of the socialites from Rochester – but neither knew a thing of the other's musical talent. Jasper had recently taught himself to play bass, and his best friend, Peter Odom, had been playing guitar for years. Jasper drug Peter and their guitars in the next morning, and after a little experimentation even Edward could admit that yes, his piano played a lot better accompanied by Peter's acoustic.

The sound was still hollow, though, and as much as the three hated to admit it, they were going to need to add drums to round out the sound. Which meant finding a drummer. Trying to invite a new personality into the close friendship that had formed during the year seemed like a daunting task; Jasper was as quiet as Peter was intense, and Edward _could_ be a little noble at times, but the atmosphere between them was amicable, and letting someone muck it up hardly seemed worth it.

Then Jacob Black moved to Binghamton. Jacob moved from La Push, Washington, in the Quileute Indian Reservation, with his father. He was a year younger than them, which made him seem half their size; in reality, he wasn't very scrawny, but had yet to hit maturity and fill out. He had a russet-skinned baby face, partially hidden behind a curtain of thick ebony hair, and he became a constant shadow to the boys.

He wanted to be in the band.

It was difficult, at first, to swallow; Jacob seemed nice enough, and could be cool when he wasn't actually trying to be cool. He promised them he would learn drums just to help them out, and what he lacked in skill, he made up for in enthusiasm… he could keep a steady beat, at the very least. Edward liked him least between himself, Jasper, and Peter, but he empathized with him the most; Jacob had moved to Binghamton to escape the cloud his mother's death had cast over himself and his father. Edward could relate. And so the three grudgingly became four.

…And, if Rosalie had her way, the four boys would turn into three once more.


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you to those of you who faved, followed, and reviewed! I appreciated it much more than you know. I'm sorry I haven't replied to reviews yet; it's hectic at home with my son crawling now, but when I have a minute to sit down and write back, I certainly will! Just know that I read every one of them.**

**Also, if you have not yet read Annaleise Marie's Battle of the Bands fic, Unwound, you definitely should go read that next. (As well as her other awesome Twilight fics. Just throwing that out there.)**

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer (or however the hell you spell her name), in case that wasn't clear. Because I don't want to be sued for writing this, ya dig? Also, I know next to nothing about Knoxville (or South Knoxville) Tennessee, so if something sounds wrong, I apologize for my stereotypical view of big Tennessee towns. My review box is open, and you are free to shame me accordingly.**

"We're in Tennessee, y'all!" Alice announced in a mock southern accent as the beat-up maroon van passed across the Kentucky border. She reached over the driver's seat, prodding Edward's shoulder. "Crank me some country, cowpoke!"

"That's not quite how it works, darlin'," Jasper said, smiling fondly at his girlfriend.

Rosalie mimed vomiting to Peter, who was seated on her other side, but he was leaned away from her, back to the window, with a grin on his face and his phone in hand. Probably texting his fiancé, Charlotte, who still lived in Binghamton, electing not to tour with the band. Rosalie harrumphed, resting her head on the passenger seat in front of her.

Jacob's face appeared inches from hers, a bushy black eyebrow raised. "Can I help you, Blondie?"

"I'm lost in the Sea of Couples," she muttered, exaggerating a glance right and left at Twilight's most dumbstruck band members. "I'm going to throw up."

The corner of Jacob's mouth quirked up. "If I had a dollar for every time you acted like you were puking," he mused, shaking his head. It was true; Rosalie always announced her distaste for romance whenever she saw it in the slightest hint, and it always seemed to be accompanied by a scale of how nauseous she felt. "What do you have against relationships, anyway?"

Rosalie shot him a glare, and he shrugged hugely, his shoulders up to his ears. "Come on, really. Two people that want to be together – surely there isn't anything wrong with _that_."

"Because that's not the only thing people want," Rosalie shot back. She felt drained. She felt for Jacob, she really did… She chanced a glance at Edward. The pianist was focused on driving, always such a stickler for the rules of the road, but she knew him well enough to be assured he'd hear every syllable of the conversation. "_You_ of all people should know what a struggle it is."

Jacob's lips pursed, and Rosalie knew they had reached a draw. Both could easily use the other's relationship history as ammo, but that same topic was their weakest defense. Jacob sighed deeply at the same time as Rosalie blew out a burst of air, and the two shared an awkward chuckle before Rosalie settled back into her seat and, satisfied, Jacob turned his head to face front once more.

Rosalie had never had an easy time getting along with her band mates; she was, after all, the member that almost never was. She could easily recall the days of curiosity over what Jasper was up to in the garage, why suddenly there were three tall boys coming to her house every afternoon, and of course, do they _honestly_ call that racket they're making 'music'? She really owed her place in the setup to Edward, as much as she hated to admit so.

It all stemmed from her mother's damn hospitality. The Hale parents were Mr. and Mrs. Social, always keen on making a favorable, professional impression. Still to this day Rosalie had a feeling the only reason her parents moved Jasper and her out of their private school in Rochester during her first year of middle school was so they could be the new richest family in Binghamton. _What an accomplishment_. And that feat meant Rosalie was kept on her toes. She had to be ready to entertain at a moment's notice. Her mother couldn't just ask Jasper how school was today and hand him a plate of pizza rolls to share with his friends. She had to dedicate an empty section of the four-car garage to Jasper's band rehearsal, buy him a new amp, and, most horridly of all, send Rosalie out with a tray to serve Jasper's mildly attractive friends some organic, vegetarian-friendly hors d'oeuvres.

Rosalie had zeroed in on Edward, the cutest of the three with his reddish hair and sulky demeanor. Rosalie had hoped to dazzle him not with the platter of tofu but her striking looks (puberty really was working in her favor!), but he'd refused the tray of food without a thought and looked back to his keyboard. His "no" could have been about the food, but the frown that had tightened his jaw irked Rosalie to no end. Who did he think he was, refusing her? Nobody had refused Rosalie in her entire life.

Rosalie spent nearly a week formulating her "plot," which, in hindsight, was a pretty uninspired plan, but one she was thankful for nonetheless. She'd raced home from school one afternoon, donned a black v-neck and her most hip-hugging pair of jeans, and fixed her makeup and hair just so. Then, with all the nerve her 15-year-old self could muster, and marched in with a loaded request.

"Let me sing for you guys."

Jasper's hands went immediately to his face, fingertips pressing into his eyes as though massaging them. "Rose…"

"Just once. Let me try."

Peter's tongue had hit the floor at first sight of her, she'd noted with a smirk. Jacob protested with an "Aw, hell no!" instantly, crossing his arms – now much more buff, Rosalie noted, but she wouldn't bother. She and Jacob had bickered enough that he was off her radar. And Edward… shrugged. He _shrugged_ at her.

Now she had to _completely_ blow them away.

And she did, so to speak. They'd struck up a Weezer tune – Rosalie couldn't name the song if her life depended on it, but Jasper had played it in the car enough times that she was familiar. More than familiar, in fact: she nailed it. Rosalie Hale was many things – brutal, melodramatic, bitchy – but _damn_ if she couldn't carry a tune. Even Jacob looked impressed, though he denied it up and down just moments later. Rosalie knew she'd rocked the song – they really had sounded great together, if she was being honest with herself. And then she turned to Edward, waiting expectantly.

"You need to sing less pouty," he had said casually, fiddling with his keyboard keys, not even bothering to look into her eyes as he became the only man on earth to ever deny Rosalie the full attention she demanded and deserved.

The details of that day became muddier with each year that passed, but Rosalie would never forget the way her nostrils had flared as she snapped, "Well, I'm in now, and I'm going to make you eat your words." Rosalie had tossed her long sheet of blonde hair angrily over her shoulder and flounced away, thankful for how great her ass looked in those jeans. But the best thing she'd heard that day was Jasper's voice, calling after her and cracking into the lower range he'd adopted in the fall: "Meet us here tomorrow after school with a list of songs for us to try playing – but nothing too girly."

* * *

"This isn't some sort of country bar, is it?" Jacob asked tentatively, eyes flicking right to left at the busy street before them, lined with music-themed restaurants, stores, and venues.

"No," Edward replied, shaking his head, "_definitely_ not. Welcome to the tourist trap that is Knoxville. We're headed to the south part of town. It's a smaller bar – Wayne started it to get away from all the country music, actually."

"Wild Wayne himself?" Jacob replied, snickering.

Edward nodded. "He's about ready to retire," he said conversationally, glancing out his side window before making a left turn. "His son Garrett is managing it, currently. Garrett's the one who's so adamant about booking live bands, trying to build up familiarity."

"A rock n' roll hole-in-the-wall in cowboy territory… Oh, yes, we'll get so many fans," Rosalie retorted from behind them. Both Edward and Jacob flinched, having thought her to be asleep, and Edward glanced back at her somewhat sheepishly.

"It's also a sort of favor, to an old friend," Edward said, returning his gaze to the busy road. "Back when we were on… hiatus –" He checked the mirrors, merging lanes. " – well, Emmett was in a band, and they were playing a small gig in Rochester. He needed a pianist for one song of their set, and their man had food-poisoning last minute. He was in a panic. So I offered to fill in – I got to play for a new crowd, and I made some money when my job prospects were slim."

Rosalie rolled her eyes and adopted an exaggerated southern accent. "'Hey, Eddie, I know your band is in a completely different state, but my nasty-ass armpit bar needs a band to stay in this hick town for a whole week, y'all, and I want you to do it! Yeehaw!'" Her words were loud in the van; Alice lifted her head from a sleeping Jasper's chest to raise her eyebrow at Rosalie, and Peter stirred. Edward shot her a dirty look in the rearview mirror, and she shrugged. "Hey, I call 'em as I see 'em."

"Well, you're wrong," Edward replied shortly, his jaw clenching. He wouldn't liken Emmett to a brother or anything that drastic, but he was a good, honest guy. Perhaps Rosalie just wasn't familiar with that, or chose not to be anymore. Whatever the case, she was so wrong it was almost laughable – though Edward didn't find it funny in the least. Still, he knew better than to disagree. No good ever came from arguing with Rosalie, and he knew that firsthand. Driving all day was wearing on everyone's nerves; it was only dinnertime, but Edward felt as if he could go to bed for the night. And once they checked into their hotel, he intended to do just that.

Hotel was a grand word to use, Edward realized when he pulled into the lot at the address Emmett had provided. The bartender had the courtesy to book them rooms, to ensure they'd have a place to sleep for the week, and even promised to keep them out of the kitschy, tourist trap hotels of the city. Emmet had done what he could to get them a good deal, since they were on a budget. But Edward hadn't anticipated a _motel_.

Edward didn't have a problem with motels, himself. However, they generally were less nice than hotels, and Rosalie just didn't do "less" of _anything_. He could practically hear her nose wrinkle from the backseat. He parked, then turned in his seat to face her before she had a chance to speak.

"If you disapprove, just save it," he said. A nagging voice reminded him to err on the side of caution; if he got too defensive, she may feel threatened and strike. He did his best to sound accommodating. "If it's awful, we can always find someplace else tomorrow. But for now… well, it's just time to get some sleep."

Rosalie pursed her lips, but said nothing. She eyed the seedy-looking place from her spot in the backseat as her band mates stirred beside her. She wondered internally if there had ever been such a thing as a _nice_ motel, because she hadn't seen one in her lifetime. All crap. But this part of her own personal hell wasn't Edward's fault, and Rosalie loved giving credit where credit was due. She had a few choice words for this mysterious  
"Emmett", and as the group of six began unloading their bags from the van, she felt anxious for when she could finally give him a piece of her mind.


End file.
